


Something Borrowed

by Afflitto



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia, M/M, Other, Pottertalia, Prumano - Freeform, hetalia AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/Afflitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry welcomes transfer students after a disaster at the Berlin House of Magic closes its doors indefinitely.  Lovino Vargas is the only one who seems to know what happened--and the secret follows him to Hogwarts.  (Hetalia AU, Pottertalia, Prumano eventually)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> Short updates, eventual Prumano, putting majority of the main characters in Ravenclaw

“New meat,” Gilbert muttered to his classmate, his chin propped in the heel of his hand, elbow on the table near a half finished bowl of ice cream. New students filed in down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff tables just where he could turn and give them all a look over, though oversized robes hid anything of interest.  
Elizabeta punched his arm. “Don’t be a pervert, you ass” she hissed. She downed a glass of pumpkin juice as she brushed her hair behind her ear, also surveying the new students, just black robes bunching as the line halted, no scarves to indicate house, but much anticipation to hear the verdict from a withered old hat resting on the stool up front. The teachers looked tired as always, ready to stop herding students so that they could sit where their drinks had apparated—perhaps with something strong slipped in for all their trouble.  
The Great Hall was arranged with four long tables snaking endlessly to the back of the hall, the heads leaving space for a golden podium carved with all the motion of flying owls, the stool that held the Sorting Hat, and the table lining the front windows, where the teachers would sit as the Headmaster went through the usual list of rules and inspirational notions. Candles drifted up and down just overhead and a maelstrom of enchanted clouds twisted and slithered in likeness of the weather outside, but without the coolness that had crept in overnight.

“You were interested too,” Gil muttered. With another wave of his fingers, more ice cream materialized in his bowl—dark cherry mocha. He dug in.

Elizabeta pinched him. “You’re not supposed to eat yet. And how the hell are you manipulating the serving system anyway.”

“I have connections. Mind your own damn business.” He continued to eat, at the same time watching out for a tall figure near the back. “There are transfer students this year,” he muttered, “See?” He pointed with his spoon. When ice cream dripped down on the table, he wiped at it with his blue and silver scarf, ignoring Elizabeta’s raised brows and a muttered ‘pig’.

“Transfer students? We never get those.”  
“Remember that scandal at the Wizardry House of Berlin? They’ve scattered the students across Europe, maybe some as far as the United States this year. Shit like that.” Gilbert cackled. “Ah, man, you should have seen the papers back home. Little Luddy blushed out of second-hand shame!”

The hat was already bellowing out names. A spindly little red head who was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane wound his way down to Slytherin where cheers overpowered the frail tapping of shoes. 

Gilbert waited until the thunderous echoing in the hall quieted down. The hat was having trouble deliberating a blond with braided pigtails, who sat rigidly, like a pole had been shoved down her spine. He grinned to himself, remembering his own experience. The hat had considered putting him in Slytherin six years ago, but Gil knew how to work the system. He’d wanted to go to Ravenclaw, if only to spite Elizabeta who doubted his intellect. Plus, sharing a bunk with Arthur Kirkland was not on his list of desirable outcomes.  
“Yeah. My dear little brother is among them. Coming in as a sixth year.”  
HUFFLEPUFF!  
Gilbert grimaced at the next roar, but red eyes flashed up and down the mob til he located a blond who towered over the group of eleven year olds. He stood somewhat awkwardly, hands folded in front of him, shoulders hunched, as if trying to blend in with the group, but ever aware that it was impossible. His brother had pressed his robe before donning it, and stood with hair perfectly slicked back, face clean shaven, jaw set, broad-shouldered. Glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose; he pocketed them and glanced around, catching Gilbert’s eye with an uneasy smile. 

“A partner in crime?” Elizabeta asked. She snorted into her tankard of juice.  
“Ludwig?” Gilbert’s raucous laughter silenced a conversation nearby. He pounded on the table. “Oh my god. That boy couldn’t break a rule if it came up and slapped him in the face. Hell to the motherfucking no. I’ll find someone new to sway with my persuasive charm.”  
“Yeah, like hell. Tell another joke.”  
An unfamiliar voice.  
Gilbert spun in his chair so quickly that more ice cream glopped out of his spoon—this time onto the feet of a first year student, who jumped back with a little yelp. The speaker, however, was older—another transfer student who still wore the insignia (A black eagle) of the Berlin House, but whose face spelled Italian, with a plain Roman nose, hazel eyes, olive skin, and dark curly hair. One curl escaped from where his bangs parted.

“You wanna say that to my face?” Gilbert glowered back.  
“Maybe I do,” he answered.

“Brother, don’t…” Another student with lighter hair tugged at the back of his robes. He bore the same symbol on his front.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Feliciano,” the rude one said, slapping his hand away.

Gilbert stood, shoving the chair back, so that he was face to face with the insolent newcomer. Though he puffed out his chest and hardened red eyes, he was only a few inches taller, if not broader, than his opponent, who glowered up with just as much disdain. 

“Don’t be a smartass,” Gilbert growled.

“Then don’t be obnoxious,” the Italian muttered back.  
“Guys, you’re holding up the line,” Feliciano said. He tugged his brother away, just as Ludwig reached the stool, looking uncomfortable at the notion of putting a dirty old hat on well-kept hair.

RAVENCLAW!

Gilbert spun around, clapping more loudly than the rest, his frown lost to the lusty screams of pride that scraped an already raspy voice raw. His brother, as if in a daze, joined him on the other side of Elizabeta, cheeks flushed both from embarrassment and relief.  
“That was…stressful. We just filled out an aptitude test at my old school,” he murmured.

“That’s why your old school was lame,” Gilbert said. He shoved the ice cream to his brother and made sure that he took a few bites. His eyes lingered back toward the front, where he could see the two Italian brothers slowly reaching the front. “Those two—“ he pointed, “they were at your old school, right?”

Lud glanced up. “The younger of two was in my year. His older brother is a year above—that translates to 7th year here?” The German hesitated, brows knit. “Feliciano and I were friends.”

“Then what’s the deal with the other one? Rude little bastard.”

“Lovino Vargas?” Ludwig shrugged and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. He wasn’t too keen on making my acquaintance from the very beginning.”

“Yeah, well, if that little fucker is put into Ravenclaw, then he’s gonna sure as hell be pleased to make mine.”

Elizabeta raised a brow, “I can’t even tell if that was supposed to be a threat.”

Gilbert shrugged. “Might have been.” He looked back at his brother, taking in his features with a quiet little nod, glad to see that he was no worse for the wear despite months apart. “You going to tell me what the hell happened at your goddamned smart-person school. The newspapers were boring as hell. Didn’t seem to know jack shit.”

Ludwig frowned. “It’s closed indefinitely.”  
Gilbert could no longer hear the dull roar around him or the screams of the hat, nor could he feel students brush by him on their long trek toward the empty seats of their new house tables. There was only the strange uneasiness seeping from Ludwig’s eyes and the way he rubbed his temples, determined to skim the room, but finding nothing notable.

“Maybe you should ask Lovino Vargas,” Ludwig said absently as the hall settled into silence, the teachers and all the students seated and ready to dig in to the food that appeared in front of them.


End file.
